Forgive Us
by DarkestPhantom
Summary: Multi chapter ingame one shot. BaralaiGippalNooj. Even after the war has been won, there are still more battles to face.
1. Chapter 1

Forgive Us 

Nooj stood in the highest ledge overlooking his camp at Mushroom Rock. The sun was sinking below the horizon, setting the western sky on orange and red fire.

He watched, below him, the Youth League preparing themselves for another night. In the last rays of the sun children chased each other through the machina in an endless game. The older ones were practicing drills, the sound of wood quarterstaffs echoing through the whole camp. He watched with some pride the ragged band comprised mostly of ex-Crusaders left over from Sin's wake had become the Youth League. With people heralding from all walks of life, the Youth League was a thriving organization.

Behind him, the sky had turned dark blue; stars already faint pinpricks of light. The wind twisted through the rock valley, ruffling the long fur on the meyvan's shoulder.

When the last child had been shooed away to bed, the last staff cleaned and stowed away, the camp grew quiet. The sun was gone now, swallowed entirely by the sea's great mouth. All that was left were a few birds circling in a yellow sky, the night guard ever on the alert for fiends, and a meyvan watching the last of a day.

The air was getting colder as the day drew to a close. Nooj shivered slightly as the wind touched his bare skin. Sighing audibly, he turned around and started making his way back to camp.

"Hey," said a voice, "long time no see."

Nooj looked up, his hand automatically reaching for a loaded pistol strapped to his machina thigh. He relaxed once the owner of that voice slipped out of the shadows.

"What are you doing here," Nooj asked, his hand slipping back to his side.

The blond smiled, "I was on my way to Djose from Kilika, I thought I would stop by and say hi."

Nooj shook his head and limped down from a ledge, walking past the Al Bhed. Gippal followed him uninvited, if Nooj wanted him gone, he would have said it earlier.

"So what has been going on," asked Gippal, "I imagine it's been quiet with no more Vegnagun to contend with."

"Quiet," replied Nooj, "and dull."

The death of Vegnagun was the last of great monsters, No more Sin to ravage the land, no more plots from scheming maesters to take control of Spira, no more Vegnagun. Everything had returned to its quiet and boring self. To Nooj it was a double-sided sword; no more great battles for guts and glory but at the same time, it was a chance for the Youth League to grow and flourish without anything to halt its expansion.

"So I hear that there is this huge celebration in Luca," said Gippal once they had gotten into the tent, "you going?"

"You know I hate parties," Nooj said, reaching for a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses.

"Come on," said Gippal, reaching for a offered glass, "there is going to be all the wine you can drink, all the food you could eat and all the women you could want," he said with a grin.

Nooj merely scowled.

"Oh give me a break Noojster," said Gippal with sarcastic distaste in his voice, "everybody is going to be there. You have to come."

"Define everybody," Nooj said, finishing his glass.

"Well," said Gippal, "Paine and me for sure, I got these buddies for Djose coming up, and everybody else."

"What about Baralai," asked Nooj, "is he coming?"

"I don't know," said Gippal, "I imagine."

The silence hung between them thick and heavy. Gippal could feel the distaste radiating off of Nooj like heat before an open blaze. Even now as the Al Bhed looked at the meyvan staring off into the distance, his brows were knit in anger and his eyes smoldered like embers. Gippal looked away uneasily, sipping the liquor, _does Nooj hate Baralai that much, that even the mention of his name sends him seething, _he wondered.

He was always the mediator between Baralai and Nooj. Except this time, this was not one of their usual arguments.

After the failure of the Crimson Squad, each of them had taken very different paths. Baralai went back to Bevelle to find out what turned the maester's favor away from them. Nooj, in hatred of Yevon and all it stood for, formed the Youth League. In the near-vacant Djose Temple, Gippal started the Machine Faction, gathering the wayward Al Bhed left over from the destruction of Home; he formed a thriving community of traders and machina builders.

"Do you remember that night, when they shipped that giant machina that was supposed to beat Sin, over at Mi'ihen," asked Gippal, finally breaking the silence.

"Yes," the meyvan said gruffly, "so."

"That night we promised to stay together no matter what," said the blond, "we promised to each other that even the maesters would not break us up. Now look at us."

"Baralai tried to kill us," said Nooj, the anger rising in his voice. He looked up at the Al Bhed as a lion would, eyeing the fatted calf down before going in for the kill, "he was the one powering Vegnagun. New Yevon is nothing more than secrets and lies. Yu Yevon and New Yevon are the same beast with the same name. It all must be stopped."

"There you go again," said Gippal angrily, "blaming it all on him. You are the one who shot us in the back. How are you more different than him? You say that New Yevon is all secrets but all you are is hatred and anger. Open your eyes, Nooj; you guys are tearing Spira apart. We were best friends and now Vegnagun is not even cold and you guys are tearing at each other's throats. Why do you think I never supported either one of you?

I am tired of this war, Nooj, I am tired of listening every single day that you guys are trying to kill each other."

Gippal stopped, breathing hard and green eye ablaze with emotion.

"You have this one chance to make it right, go to Luca, tell him," said Gippal, his voice lower, "he will listen to you, we can set things right but only if you want them to be."

"That's is all I have to say," the Al Bhed finished, he stood up and walked out of the tent, leaving the meyvan sitting there alone.

When the footsteps had died away, Nooj sat there silently, contemplating his words. Gippal was right and meyvan knew it. He remember the days when they had not yet split up, when they didn't plot to kill one another in their dreams. It was better than, better that what had become of them both now.

"_You say that New Yevon is all secrets but all you are is hatred and anger."_

Even with the Al Bhed gone, Gippal's words still echoed in his mind.

When a sinspawn had torn from him his leg and later arm, all he thought about during those months of painful recovery was how to take back what had been taken from him. During those nights when sleep eluded him like a phantom in the night, his only thought had been revenge on those had wronged him.

It was Yevon who had created Sin. It was Yevon that both blessed and cursed the beast with the same breath. When Sin was finally defeated, it was him that wanted to plunge his sword in its side. It was him that wanted to kill the maesters, for their toying of powers had left his once proud stride shortened by a half and doomed him to ever hobble on a leg made of metal.

But Baralai did not bring Sin into existence. He did not make a pact with an unsent to spare his city in exchange for unwavering devotion. He infiltrated Yevon's ranks marked only as an assistant to Maester Seymour. Using the acolytes and younger priests, he worked his way up until he overthrew Lord Trema and his son.

Nooj knew this, ever since Gippal showed up that day to tell him that Baralai had received the title Praetor. Nooj hated Yevon; Baralai was Yevon.

"Lucil," he barked to the empty room.

With the swish of curtain being pulled aside, the redhead appeared before him.

"Get everything in order, I am leaving for Luca," he said, standing and reaching for his cane, "I want to leave by morning."

"Aye," came her reply, giving the League salute, she disappeared into the curtains.

Nooj walked to the tent door and flung it open. Cold air rushed about him as he stepped outside. He walked down a well-worn path that ran along side of the cliff that led to his tent. Contrary to popular tradition, he preferred to sleep alone, away from the noise and on the bad days, smell, that came with leading a band. His tent was separated from the group; close enough to answer to any trouble yet far away enough to have some privacy.

He pushed aside the door of heavy blue fabric and walked in. The smell of leather and sea salt immediately met his nose. Comparing that to the smell of unwashed bodies that he was used to, Nooj was not one to complain as he sat down on a chair and removed his boots.

Several maps still lay on his desk, ready for his approval. They had been on the endless search for spheres deep with the crags of Mushroom Rock. A week ago, he had sent out scouts to map out new areas to be explored. They would bring back the maps and Nooj would decide to send whom to where for a more thorough exploration. He was in no mind to review them right now; ignoring them blatantly as he stood up and unhooked the various straps that helped hold his machina leg and arm to his living flesh.

He took his hair and began to unbraid it, starting from the topmost section and working downward. When the last braid was undone, he gently combed it out with his gloved hands, separating strands until it flowed like water down his back and around his waist. When his nightly ritual was done, he slid his legs down under the sheets and pulled the blankets up to his bare chest.

Despite the excursions of the day, sleep did not come to him immediately. He thought about Baralai, remembering a quiet young man who spoke little yet heard much. He wondered how he managed to overthrow Trema and his ilk. Under that quiet façade, Baralai was a force to be reckoned with, he reminded himself, never willing to step down, never yielding. He smiled inwardly, remembering the days when he and the future Praetor had spent hours training in the desert. As sleep overtook him, his thoughts were of the four of them, the sound of the water lapping against the ship, the clear clarity of the stars that night…

_A ship that glides through the air, _he hears Paine's voice in his head crystal clear_, that thing you mentioned before. If it's for real, I wanna fly it._

_You get to be pilot, then,_ _the future Praetor said,_ _and maybe I'll try my hand at navigation._

_Then I'll be engineer, the Al Bhed adds._

_Nooj? Baralai questions, looking at the warrior standing at the rail._

_Captain, says Paine, answering. She looks up at Nooj._

_Ah, that's perfect, Baralai replied._

_You'd let an amateur be captain, Nooj replies, letting the question hang in the air. _

_Chill out, Noojster, Gippal said, his trademark grin lighting up on his face, all you gotta do is shut up and look important and you'll fit the part._

_Like a glove. Paine adds smiling._

_I'll work you like dog, the meyvan replies, a rare smile playing across his face._

_The last thing Meyvan Nooj hears before sleep claims him completely is the laughter of his comrades ringing out clear and melodious and__remembering it was the sweetest sound that he ever heard. _


	2. Chapter 2

  
Chapter II 

Baralai doesn't like to think of a life without New Yevon. He once remembered a life without an eternity-old monster lurking underneath stone corridors and the age-old lies he was once forced to swallow. Whenever his mind wanders to grass-filled fields and the sunsets of the Highroad, he pushes the thoughts out of his mind and reminds himself that Yevon is his job now. In a little under two years he had fixed little of the damage the former maesters had wrecked upon Spira. Even after their deaths, their secrets still reside in Bevelle's halls and deep under the temple their monsters still sleep.

It is no wonder that the Praetor devotes himself entirely to Bevelle; locked his office, he seeks to correct centuries of old men's mistakes. But sometimes in the quiet of the morning, he will steal like a thief across the silent courtyards. Face buried in his familiar olive-green coat that smells slightly of stale air and day old tea, he walks in the dying night to an abandoned tower in Bevelle's north quarter. Climbing the spiraling stairs to the top, his mind reminding him of in whose footsteps he is walking. This was Seymour's tower, his own private quarters when Bevelle had called him from Macalania. He scowled, the air still laden with the musky scent of trees, earth and guado. Still, his tower had the best view of the ocean and on good days, you even see Gagazet in the distance.

He finds his favorite spot, an unadorned ledge jutting out of the tower's flank. Sitting down, with his back to the tower, he watches the sunrise until Bevelle wakes up and bids him to her once more. He watches unblinkingly as the sun rises; a black sky turns yellow, clouds are wreathed in orange and pink fire. Finally the sun launches itself from beneath the horizon into the sky, heralding the birth of a new day. He closes his eyes, his mind telling him what he _could have_ done in the confines of his office while his mouths plays into a grin at his thoughts.

He hears nothing but sea birds and the slap of the ocean against the boats until the sound of a man coming up the spiraling staircase meets his ears. Curses are said under every other breath as tired muscles cramp in retaliation for being worked so hard this early in the morning. Baralai grins again as he recognizes the wheezing of his assisant, Isarru.

"In the name of the aeons master Baralai, why must you get up so early and come to a place like this," he says, pausing against the doorframe to catch his breath.

Baralai opens his eyes and takes out an offered cup of tea from his assistant. Isarru sits down on the opposite side of the door.

"Its nice, to watch the sunrise," he says quietly.

Isarru looks out at the sun, three quarters way into the sky. It has chased night into the far western part of the sky, replacing cold blue with yellow gold warmth.

"Yes, it is nice," he replies, almost in a whisper.

The two men watch in silent reverence as if a sunrise happened but every hundred years. Finally Isaruu breaks the silence. Baralai could feel it, words pent up in his assisant's mouth like a herd of chocobos ready to bolt.

"There is a celebration going to be held in Luca in honor of Vegnagun's defeat. The governor of the city has extended a personal invitation to you."

"You know I don't like parties," Baralai says. People have never been his forte, neither drinking nor long nights out either.

"The governor has given you a personal invitation," Isarru quickly countered, "such dealings with Luca would be good for trade...," he stopped suddenly and looked at Baralai, "this is about Nooj, isn't it?"

The tea in Baralai's mouth quickly turns sour. He swallows it, forcing it into the back of his throat, even as it goes down, it feels more like a lump of rock rather than a mouthful of liquid.

"We have had…our differences," he says slowly.

"The people of Spira will not take kindly to this; if you and Nooj do not reconcile quickly, war will break out between New Yevon and the Youth League," Isarru said solemnly, "we almost saw it once, Baralai, it will mean disaster for us all should it happen again."

Baralai nodded slowly, he knew exactly what would unfold if war should break out: Spira would be thrown in utter chaos, even the iron fisted rule of the maesters would have seemed a better time than what war would bring.

The tea had turned from a steaming hot cup to a tepid-warm last mouthful. The sun had risen and in the distance Baralai heard three bell rings. The wake up call. Soon, novices, alycoytes, and priests alike would be rising to fulfill another day of duties.

Baralai sighed and his mind played upon him a thought of a life without Yevon. Shoving the thought aside, he told himself that Yevon was his beast to tame, whether he liked it or not.

The pony-tailed ex-Summoner rose and began his decent down the stone steps, leaving Baralai still sitting.

"Isaruu," the Praetor calls to his retreating backside. Isaruu stops and turns.

"Get my things in order," he says, "I am going to Luca."

Isaruu bows, hands across his chest, one palm up, one down.

"As you wish my Lord."


End file.
